You must forgive the poet’s license I take. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. ‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. "I can't say," answered the fellow; "but I'll inquire from the sexton, William Morgan. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. ’ It took several frustrating moments, working at the protrusions of the carving down the side of the bookshelves, tugging at leaves, pushing at flowers. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. “We suspect that Mary is alive, and we think she will try to contact you if she ever tracks you down.
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